


New Reality

by Karin (Karinpon)



Category: BAISER - Fandom, IZAM, SHAZNA
Genre: Anal, Anal Sex, Bishounen, Brothels, Crossdressing, Cruising, Divorce, Fishnets, Gay, Gay Sex, Japanese Character(s), Latex, M/M, Musicians, Oral, Oral Sex, PVC, Penises, Prostitution, RPF, Visual Kei, Yaoi, big penis, fast pacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 17:35:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5711116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karinpon/pseuds/Karin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Izam's wife leaves him for some stupid reason so he decides to go cruising for bishounen. He finds his old friend. That'll more than do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Reality

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sexsuna (Junna)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sexsuna+%28Junna%29).



The lights were off. That was odd. Izam parked in his driveway and got out of his car, went up to his door. It was always possible Miho had gone off to some late-night soirée with a friend—her car was still here—and forgot to leave the lights on for him—maybe she had told him about it, but he found it hard to keep track lately. Marriages were difficult to hold together between two hard-working celebrities; their tastes, like the glamorous four-storey mansion he now stood before, were profound and expensive, and needed constant work to comfortably afford, so they rarely had time for each other, let alone their children—thank god for proud grandparents.

Inside, he found her standing in the moonlit foyer, arms crossed, an open trunk at her feet. It was _his_ trunk with _his_ things. And not just any things of his. To think, he had stopped fearing this would happen. “Miho-chan,” he said, “I...” He what? He could explain? That wouldn’t save their marriage.

“I let you keep those flamboyant clothes,” she said, “but this, this isn’t something any husband of mine should have!”

“B-but... I haven’t used them in years. They’re keepsakes from my experimenting days. Anyway, I thought I had that trunk locked.”

“I hired a locksmith. As a married couple, we shouldn’t hide things from each other—and so you don’t think me a hypocrite, I’ll tell you right now: I have been seeing a man. A man! And he’s fully as wealthy as you. I’m filing for divorce in the morning.” Briskly, she walked past him, out the door.

Izam, dumbfounded, looked down at his odd assortment of sex toys as he heard her drive off in her own car. Again he had tried and failed the family thing. Though it’s not like he ever wanted it: what he had wanted was to fuck attractive women as they became available to him, and it wasn’t his fault when the condoms broke, when they became pregnant and he didn’t have the heart to make them terminate if they wanted it. And as a busy celebrity couple, he and Miho were often separated for long periods of time: it was a lie he’d told, that he hadn’t played with his toys in years. If he was honest with himself, and disregarded his parents’ wishes, he really preferred taking dick to giving it.

Maybe it was time to go out and meet a guy. What he’d really not had in years was a real cock in him. He’d think of the kids later. But he couldn’t go for a stroll in the gay district looking like Izam the Actor, Musician, and Playwright.

He had so many wigs, untried clothes, and cosmetics, surely he could come up with an appropriately fabulous disguise, and nobody would recognise him...

#

He had taken a night train to a station close enough to walk. Coming in his expensive car wouldn’t have been a good idea—it might have been recognised. He’d had to look over his shoulder enough times just leaving his neighbourhood.

Donning a straight, blue wig with blunt fringe, the back tied up in two cutely layered bunches, along with the kind of heavy makeup he rarely wore as of late—thick eyeliner and mascara on fake lashes, dark purple lipstick—and a costume he’d never stepped out in, or even let his now-ex-wife get a good look at, he entered a world within the world of Tokyo’s red light district. And on the street he caught many a queer eye, and even a compliment in passing, on his getup, which comprised a pair of knee-high latex boots, black but for the platforms and high, chunky heels, which were white; a latex nun’s habit without the veil, and a pair of over-the-elbow white latex gloves.

And it wasn’t any ordinary latex nun’s habit: the hem was pleated and stopped above the knees, showing off his black fishnet tights, which were all he had in the way of underwear. His erection poked through between his thighs, and the feeling gave him a little rush of pleasure as he walked. The people on the street were nice, but he wanted to meet someone in a cosier place. There were a few bars he noticed, but their names and inviting posters seemed to target a burlier demographic than himself. Izam’s standard of beauty was the same no matter the sex, so if he could be picky, he would only be fucked by a man he would readily fuck.

And one place, its name, written in red, backlit cursive, “Onnagata Onani,” may, he thought, prove relevant to his interests. A two-storey building, it had a single poster in its front window, depicting a collage of beautiful young men in a variety of wigs, women’s garments, and erotic poses. He wondered if it could live up to such a bold promise as that poster embodied.

When he entered, the smells of fruity drinks mingled with the smells of sweat and semen, of sex, enticed him farther on, between mostly vacant little tables. The violet-painted walls were lined with red PVC-upholstered sofas, many occupied by males engaging in open relations: on a curved one in the corner, a flamboyantly dressed okama sat, holding his knees in the air as a man in a suit knelt on the floor and tongue-kissed his arsehole; and on a straight sofa along the wall, a boy in a schoolgirl’s uniform sucked an older gentleman’s cock—such scenes as these went on around Izam, and he looked for the place where services and prices could be discussed.

Behind a counter stood a beautiful older man with straight, dark red hair, long-fringed, the back tied up in a high, layered bunch; his lips coloured black, very glossy; his eye makeup heavy. Underneath all this, he seemed strangely familiar. He wore a blood-red red PVC dress that exposed his abdomen and much of his chest, sleeveless with frills at the shoulders and high collar. His eyes widened as Izam approached.

“Izam,” he murmured.

He couldn’t believe it. So early on, someone had seen through his disguise. “Ah, no... I get that a lot,” he said in a slightly altered voice, trying to wriggle out of the predicament.

“You don’t recognise me?” said the man behind the counter. “I am offended. We jerked each other off once in a changing room...”

Izam racked his brain for any memory approximating that. At a venue, with BAISER... oh! “Yukari-kun?”

“Shush. I’m trying to keep a low profile as well.” Leaning in, he spoke low: “Order a drink, sit here and enjoy it as I leave an employé in charge of the bar and go upstairs. You will pay, then meet me in the unlocked room upstairs, first door on the left. There we can have open discussion.”

The proposal intrigued Izam enough that he did not hesitate to go along with it. As Yukari straightened up, Izam asked, “What do you have on offer?”

He listed a variety of fruity drinks by rote, as well as soft drinks.

“Don’t you serve any alcohol?”

“I’m afraid we’ve yet to obtain a liqueur license,” Yukari said. “Might I recommend a diet coke?”

So he took that. Yukari got a cute serving boy from nearby to prepare the drink for Izam, then told him that he was in charge of the bar for a little while, and left, disappearing upstairs. Izam paid, finished his drink quickly, burped, and inconspicuously followed in Yukari’s footsteps. He was prepared for anything, but hopeful for one thing; because above all the pretty young men around him, he found himself lusting for his old friend.

#

Yukari sat on the edge of the bed. “Come, down beside me,” he said, and smiled as Izam complied. “So you want to know how I came to manage such a place? I want to know how you came to visit. I’ll go first, as a show of good faith.” He took a deep breath, slowly, waiting, perhaps to see if Izam would object to the deal. But Izam only sat there, watching and listening, and soon Yukari resumed: “To start, after my band vanished beneath the waves of time, I ended up managing younger musicians, pretty guys—it was fun, till they all abandoned me the moment they could stand on their own feet. So I wound up selling sex, first mine, then that of others. It’s really not so different from the music industry—you’d know that, wouldn’t you, Izam? You’ve been very successful.”

Izam nodded. It seemed more widely known every day: the entertainment and sex industries were inextricably linked in Japan. And though he himself had never needed to fuck anyone to get ahead, or anything like that, he had pop idol friends who had signed legally binding contracts to the effect that, if their music didn’t sell, they would be shuffled into their producers’ porn companies or hostess clubs. And it was all the same to the consumer.

“Now what is such a successful man doing, all tarted up in the gay sex district? I thought you were married with children and all that jazz.”

“I was,” said Izam. “My wife left me just a couple hours ago. The children are staying with her parents. I may never see them again, but I think... that would be for the better.”

“Oh, don’t say that. Anyone who’s had the audacity to bring children screaming into this world, I say, owes them the world. I’m sure you can work out some joint custody thing. But why did your wife leave you? Is there another man?”

“There is, but she would have gone on fucking him behind the scenes with her ring around my finger for some extra security, I’m sure, if she hadn’t found my sex toys and reacted so badly to them.”

“Oh?” Yukari brought his hand up to his mouth, barely covering an amused grin. “Did the toys make her jealous?”

“No—I don’t know. They aren’t like TENGA things...” Izam felt emboldened to add, “I have a few kinds of dildoes, a buttplug, a string of anal beads, and a silicone cock-ring that I have only used in masturbation.”

Yukari’s hand dropped to the bed. “You have no idea how pleased I am to learn my old friend really does swing both ways. And since your wife left you just a couple hours ago, you must have come here looking for relief, suddenly unashamed of your desires, right?”

“Something like that.”

Leaning in, Yukari patted Izam’s thigh. “If you’ll have me,” he murmured, “I won’t charge anything. And I’ll throw in a discount on any of my boys.” He straightened his back, retracting his touch. “I must sound desperate, but I’m not—I get enough of the kind of sex I usually want. But I’ve always fancied you, in particular.”

It’s like a sweet dream, Izam thought. He didn’t know what to say, or want to say anything; instead, he brought his lips to Yukari’s cheek, extended his tongue. Soon their lips interlocked, and their tongues passed their mixed saliva between them. Izam’s hand slid over the prominent bulge in the front of Yukari’s skirt, reminding him that his old friend was very well endowed. This would be painful if he didn’t take precautions.

Yukari pulled his face away, but only just. “How will you have me?” he asked.

Handling his bulge roughly, Izam said, “It should be obvious what I want.” He got off the bed onto the floor, facing Yukari’s lap, hooking his thumbs under his hem. With a little bounce on the bed, Yukari reached down to help him, spreading his legs to expose his huge, half-hard cock which lay coiled, barely restrained, behind black panties of the sort that are tied up at the sides. Izam caressed the organ, felt it twitch and begin to stiffen. The panties fell off in his hand—Yukari had quickly untied them—and he tossed them over a thigh before grabbing Yukari’s shaft as it grew heavy with blood.

He could barely touch finger to thumb around it, and it straightened out to a length that might have disturbed Izam, had he not wanted it so bad—he thought his own was large, but this proved it well within the range of average by comparison. His tongue tasted the glistening glans when its covering of foreskin slid back. Tangy, as from a recent bath in piss. It was somewhat surprising, since he had never sucked a real cock before, and his admittedly limited imagination hadn’t prepared him for such flavours in such places—but it didn’t disgust or deter him in the least.

“Ah,” Yukari gasped. “I can tell from your manner you’ve never sucked a cock before, but you’re off to a good start.”

Thrusting his tongue beneath the prepuce, Izam tasted smegma. He had made a girl do this to him before, and liked it—he hadn’t guessed at the time what he was putting her through. The tanginess of the glans, he realised, came from the smegma, from whatever made it up, which might well have included piss. His tongue scooped it out, eliciting moans from Yukari. And almost automatically, he swallowed the gunk—it seemed, after the fact, the fastest way to get the taste out of his mouth. When he’d finished his erotic cleaning, he let the organ past his lips, along his tongue, opening his jaw as far as he thought he could without it dislocating.

He had barely got halfway down the shaft when it triggered his gag reflex, so there he tightened his lips around it, and drew back to its head before taking it in again, tongue pressing close to the shaft with undulations and caresses. He enjoyed this, perhaps nearly as much as Yukari did from his end, but he was never going to get the cock sufficiently slick with his shallow sucking. After a moment, he let it out, and began licking and kissing farther down the shaft, drooling profusely the while. There came no objection to his change in tack. He kept one hand always on Yukari’s cock, the other switching between fondling his testes and stroking himself as he he worked.

And when finally Yukari’s cock glistened all down the shaft, Izam climbed back on the bed. “Put it in me,” he said, crawling toward the headboard and lowering his torso beneath the level of his arse. “Hurry, before it dries.”

Creeping up behind him,Yukari lifted his pleats over his back. “No panties?” he said. “I can see your excited tool poking through the fishnets. I really want to play with it, but I guess I owe you this first.” He got closer on his knees and began pulling down Izam’s fishnet tights. An average penis probably would have been able to access his anus through the fishnets, but Yukari’s would have ripped them had he tried—so considerate! But Izam couldn’t help but feel it needless in his impatience. The tights came down to his knees, and Yukari squeezed his buttocks and hips, then he felt the big, rubbery head of his rigid cock press into his cleft. Izam could tell his coating of saliva had already dried considerably, and so, it seemed, could Yukari.

“You’re pretty tight,” he said. “There’s lube in the bedside table drawer—”

“No!” Izam protested. “Keep going. I don’t care if it hurts.”

“Remember what you said, and don’t hate me.”

Yukari prodded his sphincter, forcing entry, slowly, without pause. Relaxing, Izam tried not to cringe too audibly. It hurt, but the pleasure of being stretched, the feeling of his anus starting to suck in its intruder, made the pain negligible. Suddenly, he ejaculated. His body was almost as welcoming as his mind.

It entered far, much farther than he thought possible—a cunt couldn’t accommodate so much length. Soon he felt Yukari’s scrotum brush his perineum, and a vague certainty that if he put his hand to his adomen, he would feel the bulge of Yukari’s cock. His heart raced, and he moaned. Yukari started to fuck him. His anus burned, but it felt good; he arched his back as Yukari held his hips, pushing and pulling that big thing inside him. His own now flaccid member drivelled more come, though he didn’t think he could call that an orgasm—maybe climax was overrated, anyway.

“I can’t hold back much longer,” said Yukari. His grip tightened on Izam’s hips, and he became much rougher in his rush to get the most out of his remaining vitality. Izam found himself being handled like a fuck-doll, his movements no longer even partially his own, and he loved the feeling, his body loved the feeling—his cock twitched and ejaculated yet again, and this time he cried, for it was true release. Yukari continued to use him as his body flooded with endorphins, making him ecstatic, making him want to say stupid porn things.

“I came,” he moaned. “I’m still coming!”

Yukari responded by smacking his buttock and picking up the pace till one hard, deep thrust, where the heightened sensation in Izam’s arsehole detected the shaft expanding and contracting, pumping him full. He could only gasp, imagining that the halls of his digestive tract were positively flooded with Yukari’s love—he knew no real person could ejaculate that much and live, but his imagining deeply contented him. Yukari’s grip relaxed, and after a minute, be slowly pulled out, having grown softer, though not exactly flaccid.

“Izam’s arse is the best,” he said with a stertorous breath.

“A-ah... Yukari-kun’s cock is the best. But I want to try his arsehole, too.”

“Of course. Now?”

Turning around to face him, Izam pulled his fishnets up, and sat back, spreading his legs. “You’ll have to get me hard again,” he said. His half-flaccid cock poked out through the nylon mesh.

Yukari reached, began stroking it with his thumb and two forefingers. It inflated in his grasp. He lowered to his elbows and took it in his mouth, which worked hard and made it hard. Slowly, he let it slip out through his lips. “Mission accomplished,” he teased, rising off his elbows and turning his arse toward Izam.

Getting to his knees, Izam lifted Yukari’s skirt out of the way, and took hold of his narrow hips, getting into position for entry. His prick found Yukari’s sphincter tight, but not impassable, and once inside it sucked him powerfully, unlike any human mouth could manage. He almost came just from trying to draw back. Bracing himself, he slowly began to fuck.

Yukari’s warmly clinging arsehole felt at least ten times better than his ex-wife’s sloppy vagina. He shoved in to the hilt, and savoured the sensation each time he pulled back, only to thrust in again. Yukari cried, the practiced cry of a whore, as his hips swivelled slightly, increasing Izam’s pleasure—as well as his own, to be sure. Izam couldn’t last long like this. He thrust faster and harder, forcing Yukari to stiffen up, though his erotic vocalisations went on all the same.

And finally, Izam came, the climax making him jerk back somewhat. Yukari moaned victoriously, sensing what had happened. Izam gave one of his soft little buttocks a harsh squeeze, and kept his cock inside till he felt sure he’d given Yukari all he had.

It felt awkward when he pulled out, Yukari’s arsehole holding fast to his flaccid member—he almost thought he might hurt himself if he kept trying, but he got out before long. Sleepy, he rolled onto his back, looking sidelong at his partner. The time and place seemed perfect to catch some sleep, but he feared that if he succumbed within this dream, he might wake beside his ex-wife in his bed in some cruel reality he no longer wanted any part of.

A filthy celebrity, married with a celebrity wife and kids being groomed as celebrities... he hadn’t wanted anything of the sort when he started making music, but at length, it happened, twice, and the second time it stuck, and had made him miserable for years and years. “Yukari-chan,” he said.

“Great fuck, wasn’t it?” Yukari was climbing off the bed as he said this. “You can sleep here for free—I need to get back downstairs...”

“Yukari-chan,” Izam repeated. “Is this reality? Did my wife leave me, and did we make love?”

Stopping, sitting on the edge of the bed, Yukari said, “It does seem unlikely, doesn’t it?” He lay back and stretched his arms. “That you’d walk into this establishment, and grant my decades-old wish. But as I’ve experienced it, this is real, the most real my life has been since Shaisuke died. Do you doubt my reality?”

Izam sat up. “You don’t have to phrase it like that,” he said, moving to his lover’s side. “I only feared I dreamt it.”

Without warning, Yukari snatched him up in an embrace, kissing his neck, his jaw, and finally his lips. Their tongues played again, and Izam’s heart palpitated, which, in the back of his mind, frightened him—he _was_ getting on in years, and this was his real and only life.


End file.
